


just my cup of tea

by skyestiel



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Lance (Voltron), attempted humor, but mostly - Freeform, let these poor boys rest, lots of banter, very self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-11-19 08:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11309142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyestiel/pseuds/skyestiel
Summary: “Wha— you're the crazy one! Tea is the sweet nectar of humanity. A gift from the universe!”“Keep telling yourself that,” Keith mutters as he fills his cherry red mug with water. After dumping the powder into his cup, he snags a silvery spoon-like utensil from the nearest drawer and stalks over to the seat next to Lance. “Besides, your ‘gift from the universe’ smells awful.”or: Keith and Lance settle the great “Tea vs. Coffee Debate” the only way they know how.





	just my cup of tea

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aknightley](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aknightley/gifts).



> happy birthday, meagan!!!! i was wracking my brain about what to write and, for some reason, thought back to our little “tea vs. coffee” conversation. this is set sometime in the canon verse, maybe after s2?? it's purely self-indulgent fluff and banter so i hope you enjoy!!! and have a marvelous bday ♡

“You're awake.”

 

Still a bit groggy, Lance turns his attention to the doorway. By the castle’s clock, it has to be around 7:00 a.m., an hour earlier than he usually feasts on his gooey purple breakfast.

 

Lance has always been more of a night owl.  There's something comforting about standing in his bathroom, applying every necessary cream and cleanser before bed . At the Garrison, he would stay up as late as he wanted. Sure, he knew he would have to be up early for class and training simulations the following morning. But it was worth it.

 

Before entering the academy, he  _ loathed _ getting up anytime before ten o'clock. That changed when commanding officers wanted him awake at the crack of dawn. He gradually learned how to make the most of his beauty sleep. How to drag himself out of bed when the familiar ring of his alarm went off in the morning, how to not burrow deeper into his blanket cocoon. How to listen when Hunk yelled, "Turn off your stupid alarm already!" from the top bunk. Of course, not to say he  _ enjoyed  _ it.

 

But Lance is a decent actor when he wants to be. Most of the paladins seem convinced he wakes up early without wanting to mcfrickin’ die. Except Hunk, but it's one of many secrets they agreed not to divulge to the rest of the group. 

 

Keith, however, is the textbook definition of a morning person. His energy, at such an early hour, is appalling. Lance has a hunch it's because the guy doesn't get much sleep in the first place, but he'd rather not address it yet. Lance isn't a complete asshole— he knows when to hold his tongue. Keith's insomnia is clearly an issue for another time, when Lance has solid proof. 

 

“What's wrong, Keithy McMullet?” Lance jests, lifting the cup to his lips. There's a little crack in the cerulean handle from one of the many times Lance dropped it. Altean kitchenware is incredibly sturdy. “Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

 

“No,” Keith huffs. “And stop using that ridiculous nickname.”

 

Lance waves it off. “Yeah, yeah. That'll happen the day you finally trim your luscious mane. Which will probably be the same day pigs fly so, well, here we are.”

 

Keith shoots him a venomous glare, but the obvious bags under his eyes soften the blow. He dons his usual outfit, jacket and all. He has yet to wear the pajamas the castle so kindly supplied for the paladins. Heaving a sigh, Keith returns to his original mission, circling the counter Lance sits at. He makes a beeline for the sink and cupboards.

 

“I'm not used to seeing you here this early,” Keith drawls, opening the closest cabinet as he speaks. “Over there, drinking your…” He swivels around with a cylindrical tin in his hands. “What exactly is that?”

 

“Tea.” Lance winks and dramatically swishes his hand, wafting the smell.  _ Eugh _ . He recoils, nose wrinkling in disgust. “Well, something along those lines.”

 

Keith mirrors his disgruntled expression. “Tea?”

 

“Yeah, dude. This tastes more, uh,  _ grassy _ than I'm used to. But I missed it so this stuff will have to do for now.”

 

“Not coffee?” Keith turns back to the counter and scoops some brown powder out of the container. “You're crazy.”

 

“Wha— you're the crazy one! Tea is the sweet nectar of humanity. A gift from the universe!”

 

“Keep telling yourself that,” Keith mutters as he fills his cherry red mug with water. After dumping the powder into his cup, he snags a silvery spoon-like utensil from the nearest drawer and stalks over to the seat next to Lance. “Besides, your ‘gift from the universe’ smells awful.”

 

Lance watches in stupefied silence as Keith takes a lengthy swig of his drink. He slams the mug back down on the countertop, and Lance cranes his neck, trying to get a better glimpse of Keith's coffee.

 

And, well, Lance is no expert on the matter, but whatever the weird liquid is, it certainly doesn't look like coffee.

 

Brown sludge, dark enough to be mistaken for black, swishes around the inside like some kind of grotesque sauce. Tiny granules and bubbles make occasional appearances, and Lance almost gags.

 

“Those magical heat-stir-thingies deserve better than being used for... What the hell  _ is _ that stuff anyway?” Lance fans himself, hoping to dispel the noxious odor. It smells like tar. “Mystery space sludge?”

 

Keith leers at him over the rim of his mug. “It's coffee.” At the sight of Lance's raised brows, he throws his own words back at him. “Or something along those lines.”

 

“Uh uh, nope, you can’t possibly convince me that your steaming mug of galactic  _ crap _ is more delicious than tea.”

 

“Real coffee is definitely superior to real tea,” Keith quips.

 

“False!”

 

“Oh, you know it's true.”

 

“Not even a little bit,” Lance hisses. Brandishing his mug proudly, he gulps down the tea substitute, eyes squeezed shut. It really does taste  _ bleh _ , like drinking watered-down dandelions, but he's here to prove a point. He won't lose to Keith; it goes against everything he stands for. “Any kind of tea is better than any kind of coffee! If that mug of garbage can even be considered coffee…”

 

Keith, the bastard, has the nerve to smirk. His lips lift on one side, creating a visible indent in his skin that Lance’s short-circuiting brain notes is a  _ dimple _ . Because of course it is and  _ of course _ Lance's life is a joke.

 

“You're out of your mind,” Keith scoffs. Not one to be outdone, he chugs the rest of his ‘coffee.' Lance can't help but stare at his Adam's apple as he drinks, bobbing with each audible swallow. His skin looks a little… flushed.

 

_ No, stop that. You're just imagining things,  _ Lance chastises himself. His fingers flutter around the handle of his mug.

 

Just as he's about to fire back a witty retort, like the smooth operator he is, Keith's lips fall into a grimace. The transition is fast. One second, he's the cocksure pilot of not one but  _ two _ lions and, the next, he's a heartbroken kid discovering a bare tree on Christmas morning.

 

The set of his mouth, staring at the counter blankly, tugs at Lance's chest, and he forces himself not to reach out and comfort him. Which is out of the question anyway because it's  _ Keith _ , duh.

 

“Whatever,” Keith murmurs. Before Lance can even attempt to stop him, he jumps off his stool. His boots click against the floor as he struts over to the sink, methodically cleaning it out in silence, as if Lance isn't there.

 

Normally, the rushing water would serve as pleasant background noise. Lance sweeps his gaze over Keith, lingering on the places his shirt wrinkles, on residual pit stains and a small hole near the hem. His hair curls ever so slightly at the ends, and Lance distantly wonders if it's long enough to braid.

 

He clears his throat. “Hey…”

 

“Make sure you hit the training deck soon,” Keith replies as he passes Lance on his way out. “Your combat skills need work.”

 

Without another word, Keith slips out of the kitchen. The door slides shut with a  _ hiss  _ behind him, and the room goes uncomfortably quiet.

 

Lance peers into his mug. Tiny waves ripple across the golden surface, the heat trickling across his skin, caressing the underside of his jaw. Something feels strange. Keith's disgust, the bags under his eyes— even his fuse is a bit shorter than usual.

 

Could it be Keith’s having caffeine withdrawal? Hell, Lance doesn’t know if they even have caffeine out here in space. His ‘tea’ may or may not have it, but that's not what's important. Keith is a valuable asset to the team who shouldn't have to lead while fighting sleep-deprivation. Lance wracks his brain, trying to recall whether he’s ever seen Keith drinking a different— scratch that,  _ edible _ — coffee substitute. 

 

“Guess there’s only one thing to do,” Lance sighs. “You're lucky I like you, Samurai.”

 

He has an idea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

A day or so later, Lance hits the jackpot.

 

“Do I even wanna know why you made me look for this?” Pidge cradles the container against their chest.  _ Foggers _ , the label reads, like a knockoff you'd find at the dollar store. “We ran out of our coffee stockpile from the space mall, like, a week ago. And I know you’re more of a tea guy.”

 

“Don't ask questions, remember?” Lance wiggles his fingers in a ‘gimme’ gesture. “I have my reasons.”

 

“I think I might know what your ‘reasons’ are,” Hunk singsongs from the other side of the control room.

 

Which certainly piques Pidge’s interest. “Oh?”

 

“Manuia Henare Garrett!” Lance squeaks in warning.

 

“He's pulling out the big guns,” Pidge remarks, wide eyes sparkling with wonder. “I haven't heard you use his full name in ages.”

 

“Don't worry, dude, I'm not here to spill your secrets,” Hunk chuckles. His back is to them, but Lance easily discerns shifting shoulder blades beneath his shirt. Tufts of hair stick out from the orange leathery strap of his goggles. Chances are, he’s fixing their latest gadget. “I'm just saying…”

 

“It’d be nice if you shared with the class, but I get it.” Pidge lifts the container to eye level. “Chances are, you'll tell me later when everything is sorted out. Or…” A devilish grin. “I'll figure it out myself.”

 

_ Oh boy. _

 

“Anyway, I won't interrogate you yet. But if anything suspicious happens afterward, I'll come looking for answers. Mark my words,” Pidge threatens, assuming their full height. It isn't much compared to Lance, but he gets the message, loud and clear.

 

“You got it.” Lance holds out his arms eagerly. Pidge scrutinizes him for a few long seconds, adjusting their glasses, before finally handing the tin over.

 

Lance feels the weight of both of his friends’ stares as he exits the room, container in tow. He'll explain later when he has more time. For now? He has a Keith to impress.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Lance can hardly sit still.

 

The kitchen gives him the creeps when it's empty. Every faint creak, beep, and hum of the ship feels louder, more ominous. Lance kicks his feet back and forth as he waits. Watching a sneakered foot rise and fall, rise and fall, as the castle continues to careen through space, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

 

Thankfully, he doesn’t have to wait long.

 

Keith trudges into the room, as he does every morning. But freezes when he spots Lance sitting at the counter, arms draped over the circular blue container. Sporting the same red cropped jacket, same tight pants and boots, same freaking mullet. Each more hazardous to Lance's health than the last.

 

The box tucked under his arm, however, is new.

 

“Uh,” Keith greets Lance. It’s as if his feet have been bolted to the floor. He hasn’t budged a single inch.

 

“Most people start with a ‘Good morning.’ Something like, ‘Good morning, Lance!’ Or maybe ‘Good morning, to the most charming sharpshooter in the known universe!’” Lance feels his mouth running away from him, but there’s nothing he can do to put an end to the slew of verbal garbage. “Personally, I prefer—”

 

“‘Morning,” Keith settles on. He stomps over to the counter, his gait a little off, and drops the package on the countertop. “Thirsty?”

 

Lance gives Keith a quick onceover.  _ Oh, I’m thirsty alright.  _ He, of course, keeps that particular thought to himself. And silently curses Keith for his poor word choice.

 

“Are you thirsty?”

 

“I asked first.”

 

“Well, I was here before you, so I think  _ I  _ should be the one who gets an answer first,” Lance declares, satisfied by the loud groan he earns in return.

 

“Never mind.” Keith pats the mysterious black box. No label, no telltale signs of what’s inside. The rectangular shape isn’t much of a clue either. “I’m going to go with ‘yes,’ you’re thirsty.”

 

Lance is too busy studying the Mystery Box to dignify the statement with a response.

 

“I, uh.” His gloved fingers tap a nervous rhythm on the lid. Lance glances up just in time to watch Keith worry at his bottom lip, dark bangs shielding his eyes from view. He’s careful to look anywhere but Lance as he continues talking. “I kind of… got you something.”

 

Well. That’s the last thing Lance expected him to say.

 

“You… did?”

 

A more significant slap to the top of the box. The sort that makes a crisp  _ thwap _ sound. Lance jumps in his seat, caught off guard by the sudden noise in the mostly silent kitchen.

 

“Please just open it,” Keith begs. His gaze flits to Lance for an instant and then away. “You've been sort of sloppy against the training bots lately, and I thought maybe you were… tired.” Before Lance can protest, Keith slides the package across the counter, around the blue tin, and just about shoves it into Lance’s chest.

 

_ I’ve slipped into an alternate dimension _ , Lance decides. He already feels the familiar warmth of a blush creeping up his neck. If only he were wearing his paladin armor— the collar would do a much better job of shielding his embarrassment from Keith.

 

“Igotyousomethingtoo,” Lance blurts, which is what  _ finally _ gives Keith the courage to make eye contact.

 

“What?”

 

“Er…”

 

“Are you okay?” Keith leans forward, his own discomfiture forgotten for the moment. He’s genuinely worried about Lance. Stupid mullet and his stupid emotions he keeps bottled up inside, expressing them in the most frustratingly subtle manner possible. It's okay, the world hates Lance— he’s come to accept it at this point.

 

“Ugh, yes, I’m fine,” Lance insists. “I  _ said _ that I… I got something for you, too.”

 

Keith lurches back, putting a few feet of space between them. At first, Lance is sure he’s crossed some sort of line. Offering gifts to each of the paladins, without excluding anyone, is fine. More than fine, actually. They’re like a family after all the time they've spent together, trapped in a castle ship floating through space, fighting off the biggest and baddest of the Intergalactic Baddies.

 

But finding a gift for  _ one  _ person and one person alone… that’s a whole different story.

 

There’s a certain intimacy to the gesture that causes butterflies to flutter around inside Lance’s stomach. In the beginning, he’d done it to win this unspoken ‘tea vs. coffee’ challenge they had going on. Well… partly for that reason. Lance knows it wasn’t what ultimately motivated him to seek out Pidge’s help.

 

As with many of his grand gestures since becoming a paladin of Voltron, Lance’s primary motivator was Keith.

 

It always has been. Because, when it comes down to it, the person who consistently challenges and pushes him to improve  _ is _ Keith.

 

Who, by the way, is currently doing his best stunned cat impression. His voice is a tad shaky when he eventually replies. “What?”

 

Lance doesn’t mean to copy Keith’s exact movements, but there’s no other way to do this. Quickly, Lance pushes the container over so that it sits directly in front of Keith. The blue label and sunshine yellow logo have a brighter sheen under the lights of the kitchen than they did in the control room. It’s also a great deal easier to read.

 

“Foggers?” Keith recites, slowly pronouncing the company’s name. He raises his gaze to Lance, questioning. Lance merely shrugs. “I’m so confused. Is this…?”

 

“Save your questions for later, buddy. Now, just open it and see for yourself why this guy” —Lance presents himself with a flourish of his hand— “is the best.”

 

“No finger guns?”

 

“Huh?”

 

“Nothing, I didn’t say anything,” Keith sputters. He ignores Lance’s aggravated gasp and goes to work on unscrewing the lid. “This makes no sense. I don’t even know why you’d bother to get me someth— oh.”

 

The smell hits Lance right away. Although he's never been much of a coffee person, there's no mistaking the aroma. Chocolatey and smooth, the delicious scent of ground beans waiting to be brewed. It reminds Lance of the sugary blended drinks his sisters would bring when they visited the Garrison to see him. Plastic cups topped with whipped cream— they were  _ to die for _ .

 

Wait.

 

_ Oh no. _

 

Those had coffee blended in. Is Lance about to lose?

 

“Lance…” Keith absently trails his fingers around the rim of the tin. “Open the box.”

 

As much as Lance would love to tease Keith about not thanking him for his oh-so-gracious present, his curiosity gets the better of him. He nods and carefully lifts the lid.

 

“Holy shit,” he breathes. The inside is lined with rows of little clear pouches, filled with what appears to be tea leaves. “Keith—”

 

“We're doing this,” Keith interjects. He scoops up his container of space coffee and motions at the box of tea bags. “C’mon.”

 

His cheeks are tinted pink, and Lance finds it undeniably cute. Right, they have a dispute to settle. In light of the gift exchange, he'd almost forgotten about it.

 

“Bring it on, McMullet.”

 

The two get to work immediately. Mugs are pulled from the cabinets, water falls in a steady stream from the faucet, and steam fills the air, from hurried drink preparations. A couple minutes pass before both are finished.

 

They move back to the counter, reclaiming their original seats. Red and blue mugs wait for Keith and Lance, respectively, to drink from. The aroma of brewed coffee is much stronger now that the cup sits in front of Lance; he hates how alluring it is. Meanwhile, Keith cocks his head to the side, nose scrunching as he inhales the floral undertones of his tea.

 

“Ready?” Lance wraps his fingers around the handle of the mug.

 

“You know it.” Keith reaches for his own. “On the count of three.” Their eyes meet, locked onto each other. “One…” Grips tighten on their mug handles.  “Two…” They squeeze down, knuckles whitening. “Three!”

 

Actions in sync, they both lift the cups to their mouths, gulping down as much as they can. Which, considering how hot the drinks are, isn't a lot. The  _ Foggers  _ burns a refreshing path down Lance's throat, bold and rich. Admittedly, the intergalactic knockoff doesn't taste half bad.

 

“Ahh…” Lance winces as he lowers his cup. Out of the corner of his eye, Lance notes that Keith seems equally flustered.

 

“So?” Keith prompts, obviously winded.

 

“Eh, it's okay.”

 

“Just okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Lance drones. It's a straight-up lie. “What about the tea, huh? Good stuff?”

 

Keith's shoulders hunch in a half-hearted shrug. “Eh.”

 

“Liar! You know you loved it.” Lance folds his arms across his chest. Smug, he gestures at the red cup. “Granted, it's not  _ real  _ English breakfast tea, but it smells damn near the same. It has to be good!”

 

“Well, that's not  _ real  _ coffee either,” Keith mocks. His mouth opens to speak, but then he stops, gaping like his jaw has been unhinged. After a pause, it snaps shut. And the grin that replaces it is positively wicked. “There's only one way to know how close it is to the real thing.”

 

“Oh?” Lance scoffs. “And what's— mmph!”

 

Lips. Those are lips pressed against his. Warm, chapped from years of not giving a shit about lip balm, and yet still soft and— Keith's. Keith is  _ kissing him _ .

 

“Mmmf?” Lance tries again, but Keith sighs, an edge of desperation to the clearly unbidden noise. Coupled with a needy whine, akin to a moan, he shifts until he's perched on the edge of his seat. Keith sinks into the kiss as if he's been waiting for this, hungry,  _ starving _ for it. And something inside Lance snaps.

 

He can taste it. A hint of honey, full and bright, even more pronounced as Keith adjusts the angle of his head, slotting their lips together. Tea has never tasted more heavenly.  _ God.  _ This has to be a dream or maybe a hallucination. Only then would Lance be lucky enough to have his secret crush, a certain Keith Kogane, spring a kiss on him. And in the middle of a challenge, no less. It's straight out of one of Lance's most embarrassing fantasies.

 

Soon enough— too soon for Lance— Keith is drawing away. He doesn't move far, though, and they continue to breath each other’s air. Lance glances down at Keith's lips. They're redder than earlier, slick and maybe a tad swollen. Sifting through the fog in his brain, Lance realizes  _ he _ did that to Keith. 

 

“The… coffee,” Keith rasps, lingering on the word. “Tastes amazing.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Definitely.”

 

Lance inhales sharply. Why does Keith have to sound so  _ wrecked _ ? Does Lance sound like that, too?

 

“The tea is also pretty good,” Lance breathes. His fingers itch to touch, to bury themselves in Keith's hair and tug him forward into another kiss. But he refuses to let his body betray him and ruin the moment. 

 

Oh, mother of quiznak, are they having a  _ bonding moment  _ right now?

 

“Almost as good as the brand my mom used to buy for the house,” Lance confides, although a chorus of, ‘We had a bonding moment!’ circles around inside his head.

 

Keith licks his lips. It nearly breaks Lance's resolve to  _ not  _ kiss him senseless.

 

“Then who won?” Keith wonders.

 

_ Who cares? _

 

“For once, I have to agree with you.” Keith laughs softly, and Lance realizes he spoke out loud.  _ Oops.  _ “Besides, I think I need another, um. Taste test before I make my final judgment.”

 

An excited shiver travels down Lance's spine. His hands have somehow found their way to Keith's arms, trailing up and over his forearms and biceps, settling on the spaces between his shoulders and neck.

 

“Still won't give up on coffee, will you?” Lance murmurs and shudders again as their noses brush.

 

“Nope.” Keith smiles into the next press of their lips. “But tea is already growing on me.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes foggers is supposed to be a play on folgers and YES i am in fact the worst. thank you for reading! all kudos and comments are appreciated- they're the best motivation. come chat with me about klance on [tumblr](http://tobiologist.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/tobiologist)


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